Free story: Chapter Seven of Priestess by Rue Raven and an excerpt from her new release, His Captive!

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Priestess – Chapter 7: Preparations

The morning sun dawned on a busy day for all.
Lord Kevan supervised the packing, eager to be on his way. No more of these peasant girls, soon he’d be breaking a princess to his rule. And all those noblewomen enslaved when the Western kingdom fell. Aide to an ailing regent, the power would rest in Noble Lord Kevan’s hands. And if anything happened to Prince Herion, if anything could be made to happen to Prince Herion, then Lord Kevan would be running his own kingdom. So much better than dancing attendance on a demanding brat for the rest of his days. Still, all his work with Aliera had paid off, that old bitch of an aunt of hers had thought she was so clever sending him far away from their precious little princess. That peasant was welcome to her, he hoped the man reamed the spoilt little slut senseless. He wouldn’t leave until after she’d been publicly screwed, he’d enjoy seeing all her treasures on show. Tight little bitch would barely let him touch her, thought she was something special. Well, soon everyone would see that she was just like every other whore, she’d be opened up just like any of the stock on his table. Pity he never got to redden her though, he would have enjoyed hearing her scream under his hands.
Aliera woke in confusion, wondering for a moment where she was, then the events of the previous day came rushing in. Kevan! They were trying to take her away from her true love! How could she accept Goran, how could she let any man but Kevan touch her. She ached so for the feel of his soft hands. Aliera lay in her silken sheets and plotted escape, she had to be united with her love.
Kevan’s grooms herded the stock to the courtyard. Each slave then had her ankles shackled to chains suspended from a framework arching above so that she hung upside down, naked, legs wide open, on display for the customers. Kevan always enjoyed the sight of his stock ready for sale, the whimpering slaves swaying helplessly in their chains as they waited for the buyers.
Few appreciated the time and effort that went into training a slave to Kevan’s exacting standards. After the initial reddenings to break the spirit then training the stock to perform a range of sexual services, came the finishing touches that set him apart from the common crowd. And at every step the slave had to ask, even beg, for the honour of suffering her next treatment; he’d string them out over several weeks. Sometimes it took days of reddenings before they asked for each to his satisfaction. Especially recalcitrant stock were treated to a session with a heavier punishment stick, as long and wide as the strip of tortoiseshell, but thicker and made of a hard, dark timber. A good reddening session with this raised blisters on clit, pussy and along the crack. The next day, no matter what the slave said, she’d be reddened again on the raw skin. The day after, every one of them always begged with sincerity for the honour of suffering for his pleasure. Nipples were then pierced with silver rings. Kevan liked to link slender chains between the rings, it enhanced the slave’s beauty and a tug on the chain encouraged even greater enthusiasm in her work. Clit rings were put in a few days later, he loved their screams as the rings were inserted.
In another special touch that Lord Kevan was quite proud of, some of the slaves had their top and bottom front teeth removed. He loved the feel of their velvet gums on his shaft.
And then each slave begged him for the final honour, to carry his brand. Each slave hanging in her chains displayed a small mark branded with a red-hot iron in the centre of each buttock, Kevan’s coat of arms, his proud guarantee of quality.
Soon the buyers started to arrive. House slaves carried refreshments to the noble lords as they checked the merchandise, fingering and stroking the stock.
“Lord Sieldro, greetings, it was kind of you to make time to visit. And I think I have something you will like.” Kevan ushered his customer to the far corner, “She’s from the south, probably has about fourteen or fifteen years to her, but you know how small those Tinset women are.” She was the size of a girl of ten or eleven, but developed as a young woman. Sieldro stroked the smooth golden skin of her thigh as the girl gasped and tried to stay quiet.
“She looks nice and tight.” The slave stifled a squeal as he pulled at her pussy lips and then poked at the tiny pucker between her cheeks.
“I know your preference my friend. She’s had nothing larger than a finger up her. Screamed enough at that. She should give a fine show.” Kevan was sorry he wouldn’t have time to attend Sieldro’s next party, the lord liked to show off his new acquisitions. The initiation was always the same: the slave would first be paraded before the guests, then after they’d had time to touch and fondle her she’d be taken to a small stage in the centre of the room. The guests usually made casual wagers on the entertainment to follow, minor features like how long she’d scream and whether she’d faint. Sieldro would have two huge grooms standing ready, twins from the eastern reaches, their dark skin gleaming, huge shafts already standing erect.
They’d stand each side of the slave. One would pick her up from behind and lower her slowly onto his twin’s enormous member; the girl usually gasped, then started to struggle and squeal as she felt the huge shaft invading her tight pussy. Once she was impaled on the first groom, the second would again approach from behind. This time he’d take hold of her cheeks and gradually insert his shaft into her tiny rear entrance. The guests always enjoyed her screams, she’d always be frantic and begging at this point. Then both men would thrust in unison until their master gave them permission to cum, while the girl shrieked and wailed as she was stretched beyond bearing. They had splendid self-control, they could vary the timing of the thrusts as the guests wished, and make the session last any length of time. They’d had a great deal of practice.
Afterwards the girl would be used to pleasure the guests, and she’d perform many more times in many different ways for their enjoyment over the following months, but that first time was always the best. Kevan would be sorry to miss this one, but he had plenty of new stock waiting in the Western kingdom for him to exercise his talents. He might even re-create the initiation with a few of the noble slaves. It could be amusing to see a princess taken so by two of the lowliest scum from the streets.
Sieldro shook hands and departed with his purchase as the coach bearing Lord Havenon drew up.
Aliera’s new attendants dressed her and brought her morning meal. She ate little, all her thoughts revolving around escape. Her quarters were in the centre of the temple complex, so climbing the wall would achieve nothing. Somehow she had to slip away but the attendants were hovering and there were many preparations to be made, the next three days would be so busy. After her meal she was taken to the temple for the morning ceremonies, then back to her rooms to be bathed in scented oils. She barely spoke to Tiarna, her aunt was busy with her duties and seemed distracted by thoughts of her new Consort. Aliera was aware of the excitement and gossip around her but she moved in a dream. A nightmare. If only she could reach Kevan, he’d make it all right. Dear Kevan.
Kevan watched Lord Havenon’s light town carriage approach, always an exciting sight. Havenon had no love for horses, he claimed they were difficult to train and expensive to maintain. His coach was drawn by a team of slaves, each girl strapped into a harness, each one sporting a tail of horsehair hanging behind. Havenon drove the carriage himself, he boasted that he could snap his whip on any part of any of his team. He’d obviously had fun on the trip out, every buttock and thigh showed the pink kisses of his long lash. Occasionally a stumble or lack of effort would merit a quick snapping stroke up between the straining thighs, the unlucky girl would shriek as she redoubled her efforts.
“I have been saving one for you my lord, good sturdy stock just as you like them. Over here.”
Havenon examined the girl briefly, nodded, “As always Kevan your instincts are perfect.” He gestured to a groom who hurried over carrying a harness and long tail. “Make her ready.”
The groom strapped the girl into the harness, inserted the bit into her mouth, then grasped the tail. The long strands of hair were attached to a carved wooden shaft, it was the length of a man’s hand, tapering out from a narrow tip to be the thickness of a man’s wrist, maybe more, then in to a narrower neck and a flat base holding the tail. The groom parted the girl’s cheeks and began to insert the tip as she whimpered.
Kevan watched the groom’s efforts, “My lord, my slaves can bring some grease from the kitchen to ease the way.”
Havenon laughed, “Why waste good grease on a slave?”
After several entertaining minutes of twisting and shoving the shaft was fully inserted in the shrieking slave. The grooms lifted her down, helped her to stand, then led her to the coach. The girl moaned as she tried to walk, but she’d soon learn. For the run home she’d be strapped beside one of the leaders so that Havenon could check her paces, a good taste of the lash on the run home would start her training.
The customers kept coming, Kevan’s stock was prized in certain circles. He was having a good day.
Aliera was becoming increasingly desperate, she was never alone for a minute. Now she was reclining in some kind of special bath, her head and neck held in supports above the edge so that she couldn’t move or slide lower in the water. A team of acolytes, commanded by a senior priestess, began to pour clear liquid over her body, Aliera gasped as she felt its warmth. Her legs, arms, and especially her pussy tingled and then started to sting. Aliera tried to move but her head was held, gently but firmly. One of the acolytes smiled at her, “My lady, you must be careful, don’t get your head wet with this. It will be over soon, just let it do its work.” Aliera wriggled and twisted as the strange sensations went on.
Gradually the stinging died away, the liquid was drained and she was allowed to stand. Now the attendants poured cool water over her, and Aliera gasped as she watched all the fine hair on her body wash away. She stood bare as a slave. The attendants smiled, “My lady, all of us are washed the same way. We are all slaves of the goddess. You will become accustomed to being this way.”
“And how often must I bathe like that?”
“Never again. The stinging you felt was the hair roots dying. You will be smooth and clean like this forever.”
And then there were more perfumes, massages, her hair was washed and brushed till it fell in a silken waterfall. And she must start to learn the words of the rituals she had to perform to make observances in the temple five times a day. And then – most horrible of all – she had to polish the paddle, the strap and the cane that would soon bite her skin. And smooth some scented wax over the chair, the table, the bench and the rail. Every day for three days she would worship, prepare the implements, make herself ready and keep vigil. And she would never be alone. How could she reach Kevan? Aliera began to realise that she couldn’t escape the Offering. But afterwards they’d leave her alone, she’d have more freedom; if she couldn’t get to him before she’d have to endure it and escape after. Cold fear grew. She just couldn’t let Kevan down. She’d endure whatever she had to, then she’d be with her love. She knew he’d forgive her. She hoped he’d stay away, that he wouldn’t see her treated so by another man, but she so desperately needed his strength and his love.
It was the end of a good day. Kevan sat back relaxing as his favourite slave pleasured him, her head bobbing between his thighs. Only two not sold, and the brothel would be pleased to take them, the cart would come for them soon. Now he had a nice nest egg to let him travel in the luxury he deserved. He gestured to his grooms. “Bring the house slaves out.” His three house slaves quickly assembled and knelt before him. They’d all been trained by him, slaves who pleased him so much that he kept them for himself. They were naked of course, he didn’t permit clothing to his slaves. He called the grooms over, “I want them on the chains, get them hanging high and spread wide and then give each one a good hard reddening. I don’t sell any stock without a final training session, I’m not dropping my standards now. They’ll go in the cart to the brothel with the others.” He felt like something fresh, he’d soon be picking up new stock more suited to his position.
He stroked the hair of his chief bedslave, still kneeling and pleasuring him. He’d had the girl for ten years now, she was one of the first he’d trained. Barely more than a child when he got her. No matter how many others he had he’d always kept her by him, he’d probably spent more time with her than with any other woman. He patted her head, then stretched and gasped. She was amazing, no other slave had ever had her skill or enthusiasm. She sat back, head bowed meekly, awaiting further orders.
Kevan watched the grooms begin to bring the punishment sticks down hard on exposed pussy and crack. He’d enjoy the screams one more time. He sent the bedslave for more refreshments. After more than half an hour he signalled to the grooms, the sobbing girls were good and red now, they’d not forget their final lesson. He called his head groom to him, gestured at the bedslave, “Take her now.”
The girl seemed shocked. He knew that the custom was to give long-serving bedslaves their freedom when they were no longer wanted, but what was the use of that? Better to send her to a nice warm brothel where she’d be cared for. They’d get a good ten years out of her, fifteen if the clients weren’t too rough.
“My lord, please my lord you can’t. Please, my lord, surely I’ve earned my freedom. I’ve been your obedient servant for ten years. Please lord I beg you!” She threw herself at his feet.
Kevan kicked her away in disgust, “Obviously not obedient enough. I will not tolerate a trained animal questioning me.” He looked to the grooms, furious now, “Get her in the chains, stretch her out wide. Use the heavy punishment sticks, I want her blistered from cunt to asshole. And her thighs, her backside, inner pussy lips, everything. Blister her then redden her raw. I will not be defied by a slut I trained. The brothel cart will be here in two hours. Keep her screaming until then.”
She was quickly suspended, then two grooms took up position, one to the front of the frantic girl, one at the back. As the sticks fell she shrieked apologies and begged his forgiveness, until she was wordless with the pain. Kevan sipped his drink, satisfied that discipline was being maintained. The grooms worked on as the sunset turned the sky orange. It was always the same, show any kindness to a slave and they took advantage. The girl – whatever her name was – thought she was something special just because he allowed her the honour of pleasing him for a time. Her cheeks and the back and front of her thighs already showed a good crop of blisters. Her screams changed in pitch as the grooms moved their attentions, now it was her inner thighs. They were leaving the best until last. Kevan heard her screams rising to even more shrill a pitch as the first blows fell on the tenderest places of all, pussy and crack reddeming quickly under the treatment. Finally one groom spread her pussy lips wide as the other blistered the agonizingly tender surfaces that were exposed. Soon she was blistered as completely as he had ordered. Then the grooms began all over again, the new blows bursting the blisters and falling on raw flesh.
The sunset was truly superb this evening, Kevan enjoyed his supper as the colours painted the sky. The girl was almost hoarse now, beyond speech or reason. Her new owners would find her most amenable. Finally he looked up in disappointment, the cart had arrived. It would be quiet now, but the estate would be sold on the morrow, he’d move to the finest quarters in the city for the next few days. The grooms could do any work required for the final packing and tending to his needs; he’d be keeping them on, he’d need their expertise for the training he was to do. He could hardly wait to begin his new duties, but he wanted to see that little pest get her soldier boy up her at her big ceremony before he left. Pity he couldn’t get his hands on her for just one day; she’d pay for every time her brothers sneered at him or her father passed him over and gave the plum jobs to less well-born candidates. Lord Kevan smiled, his life was so good now, it would be greedy to want an extra cherry on the cake.
The sobbing women were taken down and loaded into the cart. Kevan didn’t bother to watch as his companion of ten years was unchained and thrown onto the hard wood, her raw flesh pounding onto the splintered surface as the cart bumped back down the road. If she was very lucky they wouldn’t make her work until tomorrow.
Aliera lay sleepless in her beautiful, cold bed. She may have to make the Offering, but she’d escape them somehow as soon as she could and get to Kevan. Everything would be right once she was in his loving arms.

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If your enjoying Priestess check out Rue’s new release, His Captive it’s an awesome book! Here’s an excerpt:
Camlin opened her eyes to glare at her enemies. Both brothers were tall and broad, making the cell seem even smaller as they loomed over her. Thick blonde hair glittered golden in the dancing light of the torches on the walls. Armour gleamed coldly – and two pairs of dark blue eyes even colder. Her own eyes were the same deep midnight blue, glittering almost black with hatred now, “I came to you under the flag of truce. You have no honour.” “We guaranteed your safety. And you’re quite safe here, nobody can get to you.” Tor waved a careless hand at the cold stone of the dungeon walls. His lips curled in a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “My people will know you’ve broken your word. No treaty will ever be made with you, no other ruler will ever trust you. By killing me you’ve destroyed this kingdom, and your dynasty.” Tor reached out and touched her hair, running a long strand through his fingers, “It’s like black silk, isn’t it? Lovely. And, my dear little viper, we’re not going to kill you.” Camlin tossed her head, trying to evade his touch, “Keeping me prisoner will amount to the same thing. I came here in good faith to negotiate – you gave me your word on the Blood. A sacred oath.”
 Arbrec’s laugh was forced and angry, “Why would we negotiate with a rebel?” “My troops hold the northern passes, without those trade routes overland you’re totally dependent on the sea. On Kathlian ships. And Kathlia is a dangerous neighbour for a weakened country. You have to negotiate with me or there’ll be a Kathlian flag flying over the Citadel before next harvest.” Tor stepped back, his face hard, “The negotiation’s over. You lost.” Camlin fought to keep from showing fear. She’d faced death time without number since the troubles began. She could barely remember the first ten years of her life, free and happy in a bright land with no cloud on the horizon. Then came twelve years of dreary, grinding conflict that ended her childhood and stole her youth. She’d come to the truce talks, as her grandfather and uncle
 had before her, hoping for some way to resolve the bitter dispute. She knew she was safe, the word of a king was his worth, and to break it like this would destroy Tor’s standing, lose him respect from neighbouring kingdoms and void all treaties. He’d only been king for two years, the neighbouring kingdoms had little cause to trust him yet – and this would finish him forever. She still couldn’t believe he’d do something so stupid and desperate. “My grandfather was the eldest son of a king. The throne was his by right.” “And MY grandfather was the only legitimate son. Bastards have no claim.” Tor almost spat the words at her, “Your family are like a nest of snakes poisoning this kingdom, weakening us and destroying everything you touch. But you’re the last little viper, aren’t you.” “Your father tried to exile us! He had no right to attack us like that! Wehad to fight for our survival.” “Your grandfather was trying to get support from the north to lay claim to the throne. We had no choice.” She’d heard all the arguments, round and round, all her life. Mistrust between the two bloodlines, vying for public support, quiet deals with neighbouring countries. And all it meant was war, and death. Other young girls bought pretty dresses and had their hair done – she was being fitted for armour and learning to wield a sword. Other young girls went to grand balls and flirted with handsome young men. She buried her family, one by one, and gave orders to a ragtag army of rebels and malcontents who saw a new regime as a way to claw a path up the ladder of success.
“You lied to me.”
Arbrec’s voice was harsh, “Rebels don’t deserve to be treated with honour.” Tor waved him to silence, “We said you wouldn’t be harmed. You haven’t been, and you won’t be. We said you’re free to go when our talks are finished, and you are. But you won’t want to go.”
Camlin strained against the bonds holding her on the rough wooden bench, “Prove it. Undo these and see what I do.”
“In a moment. There’s one more part of the…. negotiation. And then you’re free to do whatever you want.”
The two men looked up as a small procession entered the dim chamber. A guard deposited a glowing brazier in a corner of the cell, the next man had tray of equipment, small pots of herbs, and odd pieces of twisted metal that rattled as he placed the tray on a table near the brazier. The last guard had a bowl of glowing crystals, carrying it with stiff-armed care. He knew their power.
The guards left as the last man entered, his long white hair and grey robes proclaiming him as a healer and mystic. Camlin stiffened, preparing herself for whatever torments they planned for her. All she could do now was to endure with dignity and courage. And pray that someday, somehow, she’d get the chance to take her revenge.
Tor smiled his mirthless grin again, “Mage Tethin has developed a new treatment for rebels. For the very special ones, at least. A way to clear their minds and help them become more… amenable. More reasonable.”
Grab your copy now!!
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